


you are unbreaking (though quaking)

by stardusting



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Chronic Pain, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Post-What Makes the Sky Blue III: 000 (Granblue Fantasy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 17:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardusting/pseuds/stardusting
Summary: Pain is common for a skyfarer; Gran is fine, he swears he is.





	you are unbreaking (though quaking)

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again, more sangran content!! Watch me take headcanons and game mechanics and stuff them into characters; it's what I do best. I wrote this in a notebook and was listening to my good man Hozier while typing and editing it, hence the title taken from [Wasteland, Baby!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4rKN_qW5DU) Also, no beta reader, so any mistakes are my own, and I will edit them at some point in the future.

Gran knows, before he’s even awake, that today is a bad day.

There’s a fire burning through his bloodstream and pounding aches from old injuries that have long since been healed over by potions and various magics. Pain, however, is a common occurrence; being a skyfarer means a constant state of soreness and bruises blooming across planes of skin and along bones. And over the years, Gran has taught himself how to work through everything as best he can, how to stretch just right in the morning so his joints don’t lock up and how to breathe carefully through the more persistent hurts. Days like today are different in a way he isn’t able to manage properly when the after-effects of constantly downing potions and fighting through everything finally wears away and leaves only searing bones and throbbing headaches in its wake.

Gran knows he should alert someone to his indisposed state today and give them a heads up that he might not be able to do much tomorrow either, but Vyrn has been sleeping with Lyria more often than not these days, not that Gran minds, but the idea of doing more than just rolling over in his current spot makes a cursory ache shoot down his legs. Gran curls up tighter on himself, knees nearly pressing against his chest as he ignores the hot knife edged pain that carves a way down his spine.

There have been worse moments than this, Gran tries well to remind himself of that fact. Some would say too much pain, too many near-death experiences, and more blood spilled over the years than someone his age should have to deal with. He started this journey young, after all, freshly fifteen and wide-eyed with wonder. Wide-eyed still, sure, but now he aches when it’s too cold or too wet and his joints pop as loud as gunfire on some mornings. Captain of the Grandcypher he may be, but Gran knows he isn’t aging with all the grace spoken of in the adventure books he ate up when he was still living in Hermit Village.   

At the very least he’s happy with his life choices, strange as they may be. At least the pain means he’s alive still to experience something new tomorrow and the day after that and so forth. He just needs to deal with today. He can handle it, is the whispered conviction, nearly a prayer, and promise all in one.

He’ll be fine; Gran always is able to make it out of any situation a little worse for wear sometimes, but fine and alive just the same.

 

-

 

The next time Gran finds himself fully rising into consciousness, he doesn’t know how much time has exactly passed. Not ideal, but that’s just how things tend to go one days like these. Time has a tendency to blur and the pain makes everything hazy and unable to settle into something solid and linear until Gran is able to get his wits about himself.

While the aches he woke up with this morning aren’t gone, nor have they lessened, Gran’s mind is able to settle itself and thoughts and awareness come back neatly in increments. When everything finally comes together, Gran realizes he isn’t alone in his room. Not surprising, given that his crew probably grew worried that he wasn’t at breakfast, usually being the first there due to his habit of early morning coffee in the galley, but he's touched by the gesture of someone keeping him company regardless.

“Hey,” Gran’s voice is rough with sleep, a fact that makes him briefly grimace as he sits up enough to rest his weight on his elbow.

Sandalphon looks up from the book he’s reading soon after Gran speaks, red eyes wide as if he wasn’t planning on either Gran waking up so soon or being caught sitting at his bedside in a spare chair. The primarch looks softer like this with lantern light reflecting off his features and not clad in customary armor for once.

“Sophia said you might end up sleeping all day.” The angel says in lieu of a returned greeting, composure returned easily.

The book Sandalphon was reading gets set down, and he leans forward, placing a hand against Gran’s forehead as if to check for a fever. Maybe Gran did have one earlier; he remembers running them often when he was younger, much to the concern of many of the adults back in the village. However, he doesn’t have the energy to think much about past experiences; instead, focusing on how Sandalphon’s hand is a soothing balm against his aching head. Gran leans easily and automatically into the contact.

“I don’t feel one now.” Sandalphon continues and doesn’t pull his hand away. “How are you feeling? Lyria told me this was a common enough occurrence that alarm shouldn’t be raised, but she also said that while looking rather worried herself.”

Lyria is always going to worry in that soft and determined way of hers, Gran knows, but that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty about being the source of her concern this time. It isn’t as though she’s overreacting; pain this bad probably shouldn’t happen to someone as young as Gran, but they’ve both learned how to work around this. Sandalphon must have done well if Lyria isn’t at his bedside as well.

“I’m always sore,” Gran decides to say, “but sometimes everything just decides to flare up at once and makes it almost impossible to move very far.”

At those words, furrows form between Sandalphon’s brows, concern easily evident and lips pursed into a small frown. Gran knows what’s going to be said before it even leaves the angel’s mouth at this rate.

The comforting hand on his forehead slides down to rest against his cheek and Sandalphon says with a quiet admission, “I never noticed.”

Gran hums and shrugs around the hurt that snakes across his shoulders. Sandalphon has a tendency to work himself up over not realizing things sooner, Gran has noticed. For good reason too, given everything that’s happened it to him.

This isn’t a big deal; Gran doesn’t want anyone to work themselves into a tizzy because of something no one can really help anymore. “Then I did a good job at hiding it from you.”

As captain, Gran isn’t too keen on having that many of his crewmembers privy to his chronic ailments because he doesn’t like it when too many people worry about him. He already feels bad enough that these episodes tend to put them a day or two behind schedule, but it’s easy enough to play off as him just being sick with something caught from a previous island they visited.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure you of all people would have caught on to it eventual.” Gran continues.

It takes a few seconds for the meaning of his words to fully register. Sandalphon’s expression shifts from surprised to embarrassed in a heartbeat once he’s caught on—cheeks turning a red that rivals a burning sunset.  

The implication, though unspoken, is there. Sandalphon and Gran have been spending more time together outside of the company that was once mainly prompted by Lyria as a way to make Sandalphon more comfortable around different people. After all, the primarch is surer of himself these days, free too, as if a heavy weight has been lifted off his shoulders despite the extra wings along his back.

Gran isn’t quite sure what their relationship is yet, but it seems to be steadily going a direction that neither of them seems to mind.

“You need to eat something.” The conversation change lacks an obvious grace, but Sandalphon still appears to be embarrassed, so Gran pretends not to notice.

“I’m not hungry.” The captain mutters instead; maybe he’ll hungry later but eating seems like too much energy he doesn’t have enough to spare. “I just want to sleep through this, actually.”

Gran feels Sandalphon’s thumb lightly trace along the hinge of his jaw, expression soft with concern. “Is it really that bad?”

The idea of lying is entertained, of brushing aside the concern with an easy laugh and an insistence that he’ll be fine soon enough like he tends to do, like he’s made a habit of doing over the years. However, Gran feels his heart skip a beat, and he’s learning that it’s getting increasingly difficult to tell Sandalphon anything but the truth. Especially now that the angel is making a personal effort to be more open even if it’s just small steps at a time; Gran owes him this much, he knows.

“It is.” Gran admits, “I think by tomorrow it won’t be as bad or maybe even later tonight if I’m lucky.”

Sandalphon hums softly and removes his hand; Gran doesn’t bother hiding the fall of his expression at the lost of contact.

“I should go and let you rest then.”

“You don’t have to.” The words fall in a too quick rush that leaves them both taken aback at the suddenness of them. Gran fumbles a little in his recovery and blames it on the pain making his mind hazy, but at least his next words are more coherent and less abrupt. “I don’t mind the company unless you have other things that need to be taken care of.”

Sandalphon shakes his head. “Nothing that can’t be taken care of later.”

Feeling bolstered and brave, Gran continues. “That chair can’t be comfortable though if you plan on staying. The bed can fit two.”

The primarch doesn’t look too convinced by this; the bed is small mainly because Gran likes having more space for personal storage—Sandalphon knows this. “And I wouldn’t be imposing or making things worse?”

“Not really. It’ll give me something else to focus on.” That’s only half the reason anyway. Gran may feel braver at this moment, but not enough to yet admit that dealing with today would be more bearable if he could spend it with someone he likes.

Sandalphon relents after what seem to be a few moments of internal debate. It takes a bit of shuffling made more difficult but the angel not wanting to move Gran around too much, but they manage in the end just fine. While the bed fits them, it’s only by virtue of them having relatively slight figures and even then, it’s still a squeeze—pressed flushed together with their legs nearly tangled and Gran resting his head against Sandalphon’s chest. Neither of them seems to mind the situation if Sandalphon immediate act of the stroking his fingers through Gran’s hair is anything to go by.  

“Is this okay?” Gran finds himself asking regardless, suddenly growing comfortably tired due to the warm presence beside him. He hopes this is fine, moving would be too much now.

Sandalphon makes a sound that’s more felt than heard and that can either be an admission or dismissal, Gran isn’t able to tell.

“If you’re getting tired again, go to sleep.” Is said instead; the tone of Sandalphon’s voice is soft and his movements careful as he reaches over to retrieve his book.

It’s almost as if a well-timed sleep spell has been cast with how quickly Gran feels himself drifting off; the aches of his body fading into something dull and distant. His mind choosing instead to focus on the warm body next to his. He falls asleep counting the spaces in between each of Sandalphon’s breaths and the feeling of being comforted and protected by someone he can trust.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reaching the end!!
> 
> I don't deal with chronic pain to the extent depicted in here, but I do deal with chronic backaches and just aches in general, and they were particularly bad, so I decided to explore some headcanons and write this and be terribly self-indulgent like always. I also wanted to explore the negative effects of healing magic and potions which I don't see done very often, but I think it's interesting that GBF potion mechanic is that they aren't readily available and elixirs are somewhat hard to come by and are sometimes limited depending on what raid you do. 
> 
> More headcanons if you're interested:  
>  **Gran** : technically should be taller than he actually is, growth stunted due to constant reliance on supernatural healing mechanics; he and sandalphon are the same height if sandalphon didn't decide to walk in heels everywhere; does prefer support and healing classes when he's able; has a particular fondness for the harpist line, sage class (he thinks the bunny ears are cute), and dancer class; as a light main, he does have scars from extended use which could be worse if he didn't have a proper weapon conduit, they're very pale and look almost like sunbursts; also his eyesight isn't technically the best anymore, but he doesn't need glasses, yet; smells like sunshine  
>  **Sandalphon** : likes taking care of people and knowing that they're safe even if he isn't able to actively protect them, as seen by his skills; better at healing than he looks and often helps out in the infirmary when extra hands are needed, so he at least knows all the healers by name now; doesn't know what to do with himself if there's nothing to do which leads to him following around lyria or gran; touch-starved, extremely so, used to be touch-adverse to an extent as well, but that was mostly a trust thing; likes being close to people even if he has a hard time admitting it; the "your fingers are delicate" line was literally his brain to mouth filter going out because he's gay and it was a long time since someone held his hand
> 
> Anyways, I have more sangran in the works, so perhaps you will see me again soon. Leave a comment or whatever if you have the time!


End file.
